


Underage in East Van

by pythia



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:20:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythia/pseuds/pythia
Summary: "This 17-year-old Canadian is throwing better parties than you."The underage music scene in Vancover sucks, and Clarke Griffin is a 17-year old music promoter ready to change the scene.For Kayla, who is East Van trash, and loved the weird drabble I wrote. This is for you and all your friends in Vancouver. Thank you for the beautiful graphic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/gifts).



                                                      

"Look princess, it's nothing personal. It's business. You were breaking the fire code, it is clearly not safe in there, and if people leave your show, to go to my show that happens to be on the same night, all the better. You would do the same." Bellamy shifted his weight from foot to foot, as he watched the Fire Marshal enter the derelict house where they'd set up for the night. Jasper and Monty were working the crowd with flyers for their show in East Van, the neon paper bright and garish. It was probably a dumb idea, sticking around to talk to Clarke Griffin, the 17-year old organizing the best shows in the Vancouver area. He couldn't help it - the last two that Bellamy had put together had fallen on the same night as Clarke's infamous bi-monthly shows.

  
Last month, Bellamy’s shows made less money. It was fine the first time, Jasper mixed the drinks a little stronger, Monty turned up the sound a little louder and they'd managed to turn a profit that night. The second time, Bellamy took a 200 dollar hit, and that wasn't okay. He needed to pay tuition for school and living expenses. Putting together shows wasn’t just a cute hobby for Bellamy, something unusual for him to note in his college applications. It was one of his three jobs that made sure he and Octavia didn’t end up homeless. Now that Vice had picked up her story from the local alternative press, her company Trash City Productions, looked to be an all-ages juggernaut.

  
Clarke scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes at Bellamy, “It is personal, because there is nowhere for anyone under 19 to go in this town. The few spaces that will host all-ages shows, are disappearing. When there is an all-ages show, it is a terrible scene. No one wants the under 19s around, and the under 19s want the weird older people to get out of their fucking faces, so they can get on with enjoying a damn concert. Then again, you wouldn’t know about a good time if it bit you in the ass, seeing as everyone has to get fucked up at your shows just to have fun.” She produced one of Monty and Jasper’s flyers, this one advertising drink specials, along with the bands headlining the show. Clarke waved it in his face, “Can you just wander back to UBC and be happy with slinging cheep beer for college kids, so the rest of us can get on with having a good time?”

Bellamy opened his mouth to reply, and promptly closed it, spotting Octavia walking out of the venue, talking with one of the Fire Marshal’s assistants. Her face glowed with happiness and excitement, as she handed the assistant a business card. Bellamy instantly began to size up the guy - he wore a navy blue windbreaker emblazoned with FMO in gigantic letters on the back, but the tiniest bit of a tattoo peeked out from under the collar. Whoever that guy was, he was too old to be talking with Octavia, and too young to be a decent Fire Marshal.

  
Clarke looked over her shoulder, “Oh, you know Octavia? She’s my new assistant. The girl has been a godsend, since she’s been able to help me really up my game, since I can only do two shows a month. Apparently, her brother is also a promoter, a real asshole that doesn’t think someone her age knows anything about music promotion because she’s too young.”  
Bellamy blinked several times, finally realizing that Octavia’s oversized, cropped t-shirt read, “Vancouver is Trashy” in giant block letters. He made eye contact with Octavia, and she responded with a middle finger, “Fuck you Bellamy.” He turned back to Clarke, who donned a Cheshire Cat smile, looking at Octavia’s proffered middle finger.

  
“Well, I guess she does know you then. Looks like the Fire Marshall has cleared us, Good night.” Clarke turned and ran back to the entrance to stand with Octavia, who threw an arm around Clarke. They started taking money at the door, the crowd patiently lined up behind stanchions, and Bellamy knew that it was no longer just business, it was personal for him too.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke snapped off her rubber gloves and grinned at Octavia, “We made $3000 tonight. That’s after we pay everyone, and give Harper cash for her utilities.”  Octavia waggled her fingers at Clarke, still encased in rubber gloves, dirty from handling the night’s cash. No one ever really talked about how dirty cash or library books were. Clarke learned the hard way after picking up some truly disgusting colds her first six months working as a music promoter. After that, she always stole a couple of pairs of gloves from her mother to for taking cash at the door and to count it out at the end of the night.

Clarke carefully labeled envelopes for each person who worked that night, marking the amount on the outside in black Sharpie and noting it in a spreadsheet on her phone. She might be the youngest promoter in Vancouver, but Clarke prided herself on her professionalism. This year, she’d probably make enough to file for taxes, and get a small business license. Octavia followed behind filling and sealing each envelope.

“So, are we ever going to talk about the hot Fire Marshal that you were talking to earlier tonight? Or am I just going to imagine what will happen once you call the number on his business card?” Clarke took a swig of cold coffee from Bon’s, the taste metallic and bitter in her mouth. It was shitty coffee, but Clarke drank Bon’s coffee like water. She peeked at Octavia who just finished filling the final envelope for the evening, the other girl was trying _very hard_ not to start grinning. Who wouldn’t want to grin when there was a handsome firefighter hanging around their workplace?

“His name is Lincoln Williams, and he moved here from Toronto six months ago. He played in a lot of punk bands before becoming a firefighter, and was really upset to find that there was no local music scene for teenagers. He was a really nice during the inspection and gave me his card. The Chief Fire Marshal, Indra Woods, is training him to start doing these kind of inspections, so he would be happy to come out and give us a once over before we have any kind of show. Just so that way we have a record of complying with safety regulations,” Octavia did her best to seem nonchalant and cool. Clarke was a little impressed. Lincoln was hot. She would definitely have been slightly less cool if anyone that good looking offer to help her out.

“Awesome networking skills O, your first night on the job and you're killing it,” Clarke frowned at the ends of her hair, the shocking pink was starting to fade into a pastel pink she wasn't quite into. Dyeing her hair would be first on her to do list on Sunday afternoon.

“Thanks, but please don't call me O. Bellamy calls me that, and it gives me the willies when you say it, because you are definitely  not my brother,” Octavia winked flirtatiously and bumped her hip with Clarke’s. “He means well, but when I saw him tonight, I wanted to fucking stab him. Not metaphorically stab him, but actually part his flesh with a blade. God, that’s how you know someone is family, the urge to murder is real. ” Her voice was casual with a dark undertone that made Clarke believe that to have a sibling, was to want commit fratricide on a daily basis.

“I am suddenly glad to be an only child!” Clarke replied brightly, as she stacked the envelopes filled with cash and signed the flap of each one. “It’s still early, only two. Why don’t we get some breakfast at Bon’s and send your brother annoying text messages of you holding 1200 bucks. Then, he’ll probably give you a ride home instead of making you get an Uber.” Octavia laughed, “Yeah, and I bet you anything that Lincoln will be around too. He’s a neighborhood boy, and I’d love to see him off the clock.”

Bon’s Off Broadway is a greasy spoon diner, with mismatched chairs, movie posters, bright yellow walls and the hangout for anyone who is both awake and hungry. Given the choice between Bon’s and anywhere else, you always picked Bon’s. The only person that didn't like Bon’s, was Finn Collins, Clarke’s ex and actual human garbage.

Clarke had ended up loading everyone still hanging around Harper’s house into her ratty SUV for breakfast. They huddled around a table, drinking battery acid that was moonlighting as coffee while trying to unsuccessfully come down from the the night’s show. Everyone was swapping stories, showing off bruises, posting photos to social media and looking up cute strangers they'd met on Facebook. The happy chatter washed over Clarke, everyone was so happy - they'd done a good night’s work, supported the local music scene and gotten paid. She had made that happen and it felt good, like Clarke was making a difference in someone’s life.

Octavia had fallen silent as she started shoveling toast and eggs into her mouth while rapidly texting her brother Bellamy. Clarke really couldn't understand how vibrant, funny, and kind Octavia was related to the sort asshole who'd call the Fire Marshal on a perfectly legal show. She was pretty sure that Bellamy would flip his lid once he saw how Octavia chose to display her earnings for the night on Snapchat, all of it stuffed in the cups of her bra. Clarke really didn't have much of an issue taking that photograph. Octavia made her take a similar photograph, Clarke laying American Beauty style on her cash.

Around three, Bellamy stormed into Bon’s flanked by Jasper and Monty. From the stony expression on his face, he saw Octavia’s Snapchat story. Bellamy also looked like the kind of guy who could make taking a multiple choice test noisy.

“Octavia, you cannot post a photo of your breasts on Snapchat and think that you're going to get into a decent college,” Bellamy pulled up a battered chair at their table, before stealing his sister’s full glass of ice water.  

Clarke tried not to roll her eyes and sigh at Bellamy’s dramatic entrance, it was directly pulled from the Abby Griffin playbook. She couldn’t really be too annoyed, because Abby pulled that shit because she cared, and if Bellamy cared about Octavia, it was something small that she could like about him. It would be better if she liked _something_ about Bellamy.

Octavia tossed her envelope of cash over to Bellamy, “That’s 1,200 bucks big brother, looks like we’re a two-income household now.” The brunette didn’t even try to hold back her grin, obviously enjoying Bellamy’s look of disbelief at how much money Clarke’s show had made that night. With Octavia on hand, they’d added a photobooth, a larger selection of non-alcoholic drinks and snacks, and Monroe, a friend of Octavia’s, doing personalized t-shirts. The shirts were probably the coolest - Monroe cut a special design for each band out on linoleum and printed shirts as people bought them.

Clarke sipped her coffee and watched Bellamy thumb through the bills in Octavia’s envelope. “I am hiring, I’m not old enough to rent a van, and I could use someone over twenty-five.”

He handed the envelope back to Octavia, “I’m only twenty-two. Sorry princess.” Bellamy was trying to keep his tone light and even, like seeing his baby sister pay the month’s rent in a single night wasn't a tiny bit emasculating.

“Well, I guess there’s always Rent Cheque Wednesday at the Astoria, if you don’t want to work under me,” Clarke quirked an eyebrow and tried not to pretend that she’d just made an awkward sex joke to her new friend’s brother, who was a massive asshole. Octavia seemed oblivious, looking up from stashing the envelope in her messenger bag.

“Seriously Bell, Clarke is a good boss, I think you’d like working for her,” Octavia resumed eating and staring at her phone, she was probably Facebook stalking Lincoln the Fireman. Someone then kicked Clarke’s ankle, apparently Octavia wasn’t totally oblivious. Bellamy started browsing through the menu, pointedly ignoring Octavia’s chatter about their successful night. Clarke’s phone chimed with a text from Octavia, “You’re Bellamy’s type. Just don’t hook up with him in front of me, okay?”

Clarke stared at her phone before sending a reply, “Ha. The important part is that is that Bellamy is NOT my type.”

  
Octavia replied a moment later with a string of eggplant emojis.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Vice article, about a Vancouver girl taking on the local music scene.](https://www.vice.com/en_au/article/this-17-year-old-vancouverite-is-throwing-better-parties-than-you)


End file.
